


No Reason

by Dodoa



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts, Unilock, Very light on the Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dodoa/pseuds/Dodoa
Summary: There was absolutely no reason for Sherlock to feel like this. Knowing that didn't help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags! Read at your own discretion.
> 
> I debated quite a bit over whether I should post this. It's far too personal, but the reason I wrote it was that I needed to read something like this and couldn't find it, so I thought that maybe someone else might need to read something like this too.

There was absolutely no reason for him to feel like this. The reading room of the library was going blurry in front of his eyes and there was no reason for him to feel like this. He had everything he could possibly want in his life. In fact, he was on the best way to get exactly what he had dreamed of since he had first learned that ‘ _scientist_ ’ was an actual job one could have. There really was no fucking reason for him to feel like this. He could have everything he’d ever wanted with a minimum of effort, much less effort than anyone else, because he was more intelligent. All he had to do was to get up, get the book he needed, read the chapters relevant to the exam once, committing them to memory and he’d be fine, while everyone else had been studying for weeks already. If he was any kind of decent human being, if he deserved the space he was taking up on this planet, he’d get up, get the book and get it done. The subject matter wasn’t even uninteresting, it would be a good read usually, but he already knew it wasn’t going to happen, not today. He wasn’t even sure why he was still here. He’d been sitting here for almost an hour, watching the world blur in front of his eyes. It was pathetic. He shouldn’t be like this, he was completely fine, no reason for this, he was just being pathetic. Still he couldn’t muster the energy to get up or stop his eyes from watering, no matter how often he wiped his eyes and told himself that this was leading nowhere, to just get up and go home, his muscles wouldn’t move. Stifling the whimper that wanted to escape his throat with each failed attempt was the best he could do. It would be embarrassing if the people around him weren’t so blind. Students were sitting all around him, studying, hell someone was sitting directly across from him, less than three feet away and none of them had noticed him falling apart in their middle over the last hour. It would be funny, how self absorbed they all were, if he wasn’t half hoping that someone would notice. He wondered if they would notice if he silently reached into his bag, took out his pocket knife and slit his wrists right here. If he managed to stay silent and kept his arms below the table, they probably wouldn’t notice until he collapsed from the blood loss. The thought was less idle than usual. He was scaring himself a bit. Not because he was going to do it. He wasn’t. He didn’t have a legitimate reason to kill himself. If he did, no one would ever figure out why. He didn't want people to wonder. He didn’t really want to die either, but he wouldn’t mind overly much if he did. If he was run over by a lorry on his way home, that was if he ever made it out of the library, he wouldn’t be mad, he’d go without complaint. It wasn’t like he had anything to look forward to. He wouldn’t make it anyway. Somewhere along the way he’d inevitably fail. His superior mind wouldn’t be enough to muddle through any longer. Maybe it would be the next exam or the one after that, maybe he’d fail to hand in a paper or he wouldn’t show up on his first day of lab practice because he didn’t have the energy to get out of bed. He didn’t know when everything would crash down around him, only that it would and when it did, it would be too late. There would be no cry for help from him and no one would notice until it was too late. He was far too good at hiding, at keeping his mask on and at pretending he was fine and the rest of the world wasn’t observant enough for anyone to notice. It wasn’t that he was thinking about killing himself that was scaring him, it was the realisation that if he ever actually got to that point, he would likely succeed. Ironically enough, death would be the only thing in his life he would succeed at. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that this was the point, where he should reach out to someone. There was still time now. He wasn’t alone, not anymore, he had John now and he knew John would listen when he needed him to, would probably come running if he called, but he already knew he wouldn’t do that. What would he even say? John, I’m feeling depressed and suicidal for no reason? Sure, and what could John do? Tell him he should get a therapist, medication? He already knew that, told himself so at least three times a day. Didn’t mean he was going to do it. How could he, he didn’t even have the energy to open his mail or read a fucking book so he’d pass his fucking exam. There were helplines too, he knew that, but if he couldn’t even talk to his best friend, how would he talk to a stranger about this? No, he knew he’d struggle on, muddle through until everything came crushing down in the end. He’d been hopeful lately, had thought that maybe it wouldn’t happen after all, had fought tooth and nail to get out of the abyss, had already seen the light, but his best hadn’t been enough and this morning he’d plunged down again and it was darker now than before, because his eyes weren’t used to the dark anymore and the water had risen in his absence and he was just so tired. He knew he couldn’t do it again, he barely had the energy to keep his head above the water. He should call John. Not to tell him, just for company. He knew from experience that it would be better if he wasn’t alone, not like he was right now, surrounded by people who didn’t even see him, who probably wouldn’t notice if he killed himself right in front of them. John didn’t see either, he was too good an actor for him to have a chance, but at least John saw him. It wouldn’t make anything go away, it wouldn’t get him out of the abyss, the tight weight on his chest wouldn’t go away and neither would the knot in his throat and he’d still be chilled to the bone with no way to get warm again, but at least he wouldn’t be stuck in his own head for an hour or two, maybe he’d even manage a smile that wasn’t completely fake in John’s company. If he called now, maybe his mask wouldn’t be completely in place and John would notice that something was wrong and some part of him wanted that. He wouldn’t admit to it of course, because then he would have to explain and he didn’t even know what was wrong with him, nothing had happened to make it this much worse. So he didn’t get the internship he wanted, he hadn’t expected to, he knew that he’d sent his application in way too late. It certainly didn’t warrant this. He was just failing, falling, slipping, drowning for no good reason, nothing he could tell John about would explain this. 'I want to die because I never learned how to live, how to do things that needed to be done and now everything is always caving in, crushing down on top of me and falling away beneath my feet.' It wouldn’t make sense to John because nothing was actually falling, he wasn’t actually failing at anything, his grades were good and just because he didn’t get the internship he wanted, didn’t mean he didn’t get an internship. To the outside observer everything was completely fine, his mind was still compensating for his laziness. No one could see that he was drowning, alone in his abyss. No one would see until it was too late, and as much as he wanted John around, wanted him to notice, he knew John wouldn’t be able to stop it even if he did see. Would it be worse for John if he saw and was helpless to do anything, or if there were no signs at all and John would wonder afterwards if he’d missed any. He should at least allow John to try, he owed him that much. But lately what he knew he should do was never what he actually did, so he didn’t call John. He did manage to get out of the library eventually, he was even in time for his next lecture.

* * *

Days blurred together. It felt like moving through molasses, but no one noticed anything because he wasn’t missing any classes. He wasn’t really able to focus on what the professor was saying, his mind running around in circles at the bottom of the abyss, but no one noticed because he never took notes anyway. He’d pay for his inattention later though, when he had to reread the course materials for the exams, instead of taking them from memory. Sometimes there was a moment after the lecture, where he thought he might not be able to get up, but it never took more than a few tries before his muscles got the message from his brain and then he was moving like everyone else. Maybe a little slower, but not enough for anyone to notice. Never enough for anyone to notice. He was so tired of this. Tired of pretending. He wanted to go home and sleep, but this wasn’t the kind of tiredness that could be cured by sleep and he wasn’t able to sleep with his mind circling like this anyway, instead he was staying up way too late pacing in his room unable to put his mind to rest. The only time he could move uninhibited by the molasses, all air seemed to have turned into, was when he had nowhere to go.

* * *

He was concentrating so hard on putting one foot in front of the other, he didn’t notice John until he called his name. John was complaining that he hadn’t heard from him in a while. He didn’t know how long it had been. Weeks were flying by in a single moment, leaving no time to do all the things that needed to be done, while every day felt like an eternity, the events of the morning already long ago by the time evening rolled around. John demanded dinner, to catch up. John was in a good mood, it wasn’t contagious, but he went along with dinner anyway. It was nice of John to want his company and he didn’t want to discourage him and the part of him that still wanted to live hoped that maybe, against all odds, John would notice. He ordered the fattiest and most sugary thing on the menu, he was hanging on by his fingernails, he was allowed, even if he would barely taste it. John noticed that he was too quiet halfway through their meal. He claimed that he was just thinking, but that came out too quiet too. To distract John he did a few deductions, but he didn’t manage to pick out the funny ones, like he usually did, so John got to know about the young mother who wouldn’t make the rent this month, the teenager who’d run away from home because of his abusive stepmother and the grad student who was contemplating suicide after his girlfriend of six years had died in a car crash, before he stopped him from divulging any more sad tales. After dinner John invited himself to stay over under the pretence that his flatmate wanted to bring his date home with him and John didn’t want to interrupt anything. He pretended he didn’t know John was lying, because if he called his bluff, John might go home after all and leave him to struggle alone in the water and the darkness. While John was in the shower, his mobile chimed. John had left it on the kitchen table before disappearing in the bathroom. It wasn't curiosity that made him look at the text. It had been a while since he’d felt curious about anything, but maybe John was being called away and if that was the case, he needed to know so he could adjust to being alone tonight after all, so he’d be able to keep his mask on when John told him. The text didn’t call John away. It was from his flatmate and said: ‘ _Alright take care of him mate.’_ It was a response to the text John had sent while they were walking: ‘ _Won’t be home tonight I don’t think Sherlock’s ok.’_ So John had noticed. A tiny smile stole onto Sherlock’s face. It didn’t fix anything, he was still in the abyss, but at least he didn’t have to pretend any longer and maybe John could even bring him a candle to drive away the darkness. 


End file.
